


Attitude

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashback # 13, Guessing (present day).  Sam learns about his attitude from Pastor Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attitude

“I’m guessing you’re Sir Andrew,” Dean drawls, opening Jim’s front door to a stuffy looking geezer in a tweed blazer.

“Yes, I am, young sir. I am in need of Samuel Winchester.”

Dean barely represses a snort, aware that John’s coming up behind him, and that he’d best watch his manners. “Come on inside,” he says, and escorts the man into the front parlor. John slips back into the house, presumably to get Sam and avoid Sir Andrew, and were Dean in a worse mood, he’d let his father have it for that trick. Unfortunately Jim’s over at the church, won’t be back for a bit.

Sam comes enthusiastically into the room, and stops dead when the elderly man frowns at him. 

“More decorum, if you please, boy,” he says. 

Dean knows the lightning that flashes in his younger brother’s eyes. He sneaks out himself, and goes to warn Dad. And his first move is to punch his father in the arm, calling him a chicken. Really, he doesn’t know why he does the things he does, some days, because John’s answer is to spin his son around and swat twice, and fuck if the heart attack made any difference in how hard the man spanked. 

“Ow,” he complains, rubbing at the copious sting. Except his Dad’s eyes are twinkling, so he knows the man isn’t mad, at least.

“Pot calling kettle, Dean? I don’t see you in there.”

“Try not to beat Sam senseless. The guy offended him with the first thing he said, and that’s hard to do with Sam.”

John grunts. His older boy is right, it is hard to offend the younger Winchester – Sam’s good with people, especially stuffy ones. Jim lets himself in the back door and gives the elder Winchesters a pair of wry looks.

“I see you’re hiding out. Well, make yourselves useful then, take the grocery list and go.”

“Uh, sure, Pastor Jim,” Dean says. “But someone’s gotta keep an eye on Sam so he doesn’t kill the guy.”

“I will do so,” Jim says firmly, and narrows his eyes at the men. “GO.” He gives a long suffering sigh as the two men flee, and then parks himself in his study, where he can hear the conversation in the parlor. He’s not pleased with what he’s hearing. Sir Andrew is condescending, and Sam is, well, grilling the man. He’s doing it politely at least, but Jim still flinches at some of the questions that get posed. Boy will make a good lawyer. He hears a number of things he doesn’t like in the least though, as Sam gets ruder and ruder – and in a subtle way that Jim knows is absolutely intentional. Sir Andrew’s condescension never stops, though, and finally Jim steps in before Sam can say something that can’t be politely overlooked.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I do need Sam for something over at the church in a while, I just wanted to remind him. Did you by chance bring the texts I requested, Andrew?”

“Boys ought to remember what they’ve promised,” the man says poisonously, glaring at Sam. Not that Jim blamed him, Sam had all but implied that the man’s knowledge would be useless in the United States, though the boy is right. The thing is, there is a man in the US who knows it, and Andrew’s the only one who knows how to contact him. Sam likely doesn’t know that. 

“Can I offer you some tea, Andrew?”

“No. I’m off, I have an appointment with the university about the next publication,” he says, and Sam gives a short nod.

“Thank you for your time, Sir Andrew,” the boy says, and Jim knows that the slight mocking tone will go right over the academics head. It didn’t go over Jim’s, though. Jim and the knight exchange texts, as they do every couple months, and it’s as the man is leaving that he hands Jim a business card.

“I think that young man is entirely too irresponsible to be handling business like this,” he says snippily, “But I know the information is needed. The theory may work, and it cannot be risked to avoid trying.” He hands Jim a business card with the information. Jim simply thanks him, knowing the condescension is just the way Andrew is, and frankly he’d expected Sam to handle it better than that.

He sets the books safely on the mantle, and then turns to the boy, who glares back for a moment, then fidgets uncomfortably. 

“I don’t think I even need to tell you how unhappy I am with you, young man. I have never heard you so rude in all my life. You get up and come with me.” He doesn’t miss the fact that Sam’s eyes go wide. Good. He’s not often involved himself in disciplining the boys, but he is absolutely not going to let this pass. Sam’s likely afraid he’s going to break out his belt, remembering one memorable incident with Dean and a rude exchange with one of the priory ladies. 

Not for this, however. Oh no. Sam needs to think, not let off steam and cry. He leads the youngest Winchester into the kitchen, stands him by the sink while he lathers up a bar of Ivory.

“Did I forget to wash after lunch,” Sam asks uncertainly.

“No,” Jim says curtly. “Something else needs cleaning, here. Open your mouth, Samuel.” He’s amused that the boy’s mouth immediately drops open, though it’s obvious that it’s more in shock than anything. Just as he has with many, many boys before, he places the bar into Sam’s mouth, tips his chin up. Sam’s eyes go wide, and he inhales. “Now, Samuel. You’re going to leave that right there. And you’ll be standing right here in the kitchen, so you can reflect on just how rude that was, and how inappropriate, do you understand me?”

There are tears in Sam’s eyes, likely a combination of the foul taste of the soap and the lecture, and he marches Sam into the empty corner in the kitchen, and has a seat himself at the kitchen table after putting coffee on. He watches with wise eyes as Sam fidgets. There’s no excuse for such rudeness, and just before he’s about to rise and rescue the young man, the kitchen door opens, and his father and brother walk in. John does a doubletake, looking at Sam, and immediately sends Dean packing. 

Jim simply gives John a serene look, and goes on taking notes on the legal pad before him, ignoring John’s astonishment. Winchester has sense, though, and he pours himself a cup of coffee, takes a seat. Five minutes pass, as they both observe the boy fidget and twitch, though they can both tell he’s trying to stand still, and Jim knows that the sniffling probably means that Sam’s crying. He steers the tall boy over to the sink, removes the soap, and hands a full glass of water to Sam.

“Use it wisely,” he warns. “There won’t be another.” He waits patientely while Sam slowly, agonizingly begins the process of spitting and rinsing, knowing that as long as the boy had held the soap there, he’d be tasting it for hours. “Now back to the corner, sir.” Sam shuffles off, without even glancing at his father, his entire person drooping woefully.

Jim has the audacity to smirk at John, when Winchester catches his eye.

“What did he do,” growls John.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that rude in my life, John, baiting that man.” Jim never looks away from the boy as he speaks, relating the conversation to Sam’s father. He can tell that John isn’t pleased. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me handle this one,” he says firmly, not surprised when Winchester looks startled. He waits while the man thinks it over, in his own way, and then nods. “Sam, turn around,” he says, and the boy shamefacedly turns. “You’re not fit for company, young man. You’re going to take the writing desk in the library and turn it into the corner, and the rest of the afternoon will be spent in there working on the texts that Sir Andrew left. I expect summaries of all of them that can be included in hunting journals.”

“Yessir,” he says, and but his eyes linger on his father.

“Come here, Sammy.” John’s voice is firm, and Sam comes over, stopping at John’s knee just as he has since he was five. “You mind Pastor Jim,” he says, watches his son nod. “And you come get me if you need me,” he adds. The punishment Jim’s choosing isn’t going to be an easy one for his son. John spanks them more than another father might think wise, but for both sons, who tend to dwell on transgressions overmuch, it works with greater efficiency and less harm. Jim’s punishment is going to hurt his son in ways a spanking wouldn’t, and John can’t do anything but give his heavy approval, and be there for the boy. He’ll make sure Sam is all right. He always does.


End file.
